Places of Interest
by TourmalineTrue
Summary: The third and final of what I'm now calling my "places" series. This one's a 'Road to' fic! We find the boys approaching their one-year mark: while Brian searches for inspiration for his writing, Stewie searches for his passion in life.


**Presenting **_**Places of Interest**_, **the sequel to **_**Anyplace You Are, **_**the sequel to **_**The Old Familiar Places. **_**Yup, these stories have become a bona fide trilogy or "threequel". This is to be the last installment.****You should probably go read its predecessors first. Not that this series is very complex and hard to pick up on, but I will make references in this fic to things that happened in the first two, so just so you have a full understanding of things….**

**Disclaimer: I do not, never have, and never will own Family Guy. **

**Chapter One: London, England**

"This is ridiculous," Brian Griffin grumbles. He grits his teeth and forces a smile as a man passing by in the lobby of the Park Plaza County Hall, London gives him a nod of acknowledgement as he hurries by, clutching a briefcase and talking into his cell phone.

As they stroll toward the front desk, Stewie is hanging on Brian's arm, which he gives a rough squeeze at hearing his mate's peevish statement. "Will you stop complaining!" he snaps in a whisper, then wobbles in his high heels, almost stumbling. Brian sighs in an incommoded way, instinctively catching Stewie around the waist to prevent him from falling forward. The younger man's stomach makes a strange, discontented mewling sound.

"Damnation! Heel, toe, heel, toe! I used to be able to walk in these things so easily!" Stewie laments, then places a hand gently over the bump protruding from his midsection, concealed beneath a voluminous teal and purple maternity dress. It has a bold geometric pattern, which would seem a peculiar choice for expectant women who typically want to keep clear of anything that's going to emphasis their increased weight and make them look as big as a house. However, in _this _particular case, bizarre as it is, in wanting to commit to the act and really sell it, the idea is to appear as obviously pregnant as possible.

"Keep it quiet in there," Stewie instructs in a firm but very quiet voice as they finally draw up to the front desk.

The clerk welcomes them in a courteous and professional, albeit vaguely bored manner and inquires as to how he may assist them.

"Uh, yes, we have a reservation under the name 'Griffin'," Brian informs him. The clerk looks it up and hands over the keycard and Brian and Stewie head for the elevator- or, as they would have it here, "lift".

A lady who looks to be in her fifties is also waiting for the lift. It arrives after merely a few seconds, and the three of them pile in.

The lady turns to Stewie and asks,

"When are you due?"

Stewie puts on a female voice to answer evasively, "Not long now, and this little one'll be out to greet the world," trying to catch eyes with his boyfriend, who is determinedly avoiding it.

"Is this your first?" inquires said woman.

Stewie appears to consider potential replies for a moment, then smirks and responds, "Well, we have a cat."

The lady lets out a trill of kindly amused laughter. "It's not precisely the same thing, dear."

"I suppose not," grants Stewie, lip twitching.

The lady smiles. "Well, you're a very good-looking couple. I'm sure you'll have beautiful babies."

While Brian feels his complexion go beet red, Stewie gives the woman a great big smile (closed-lipped, because it's obvious to at least Brian that the crossdressing man is striving not to break into uproarious laughter) and says sincerely, "Thank you!"

The number for their floor lights up, a _ding!_ sounds, and the lift comes to a halt. They tell the lady goodbye, get out and walk along the corridor to their Superior Double Room. Once inside, Brian drops their luggage on the floor as next to him Stewie kicks off his shoes with a sigh of relief and presents his back to Brian with the demand:

"Hurry up and unzip me."

Brian pulls the little metal tab down its track of teeth and the frock slips down the younger man's body to the floor and Stewie steps over the fabric that pooled around his feet, leaving him in a satiny peach-colored slip, that has, fastened around the waist, an open fanny pack-like pouch. Sticking out of it is a little furred head in which a pair of mismatched eyes- a blue one and a brown one- are set. The smuggled-in Garou meows and leaps lightly onto the bed.

Brian is reminded of the movie _Alien,_ when the creature bursts out of that guy's stomach.

The cat looks around with his eyes gone wide as silver dollars, not recognizing his surroundings and not liking it one bit; he paces up and down the bed, tail twitching.

Then lets out a loud, mournful meow that- ironically, given the recent deception- sounds like a baby crying.

Brian shushes Garou immediately. Naturally, the cat only makes the same noise again, even louder. "Shut up, damn cat!" Brian orders him in a whisper, but while Garou is enamored with Stewie, he seems to merely tolerates Brian's membership in their household (mimicking, of course, Brian's own attitude toward the cat) and never listens to him. _Not that cats can be trained to do anything besides shit in a box, _Brian thinks with utter disdain.

Once more, the cat meows in that noisy, wailing, drawn-out way, and Brian regards Stewie with his hands on his hips. "You had to bring him, now you'd better find a way to keep him quiet. He's going to get us kicked out of here!"

Untroubled, Stewie rummages though his suitcase, producing a blanket that can usually be found folded on the end of the couch at home, and that the feline had taken a shine to sleeping on. Stewie holds it out to his pet; once the distraught Garou gets a whiff of the familiar item, he shuts his trap and calms immediately. Stewie aims a smart aleck smirk at Brian as though to say, _see, I'd told you there be no problem in his coming with us, _then begins to walk around surveying what would be their digs for the next three days, giving them his nod of approval.

"Well, these lodging are certainly up to scratch! They're really rather chic, aren't they?"

"They should be, for what they cost us," Brian points out, slightly ill-humoredly, but as he lets his gaze wander, taking in more of their accommodations, he can't help but find them pleasing. The modern, art deco style is exactly his taste. Still, he adds, "Good thing the B&B in Hertfordshire will do considerably less damage to our budget."

Stewie goes to the enormous windows to the side of their bed and inhales a sharp breath at the aspect. "Brian…come and have a look. The view is absolutely marvelous," he sighs, entranced.

Brian stands next to him and takes in the scene outside the window. The London Eye is there to stare back at him. It is after nine at night, the sky is dark, and the famous observation wheel looms in all its grandeur against that endless coal black blanket.

"Here we are," says Brian. "Leg one of our journey. Now begins my search to find material for my next book, and _your_ search for an epiphany that'll tell you what your ideal career is." He turns his head toward Stewie, wrapping an arm about the younger man's waist. "Are you glad we're doing this?"

"So glad. Oh, Brian, I've got such a good feeling about this trip." Stewie sways slightly, closing his eyes, and humming peacefully to himself, prompting Brian to ask, "A little jetlagged, are we?"

Stewie cracks his eyes open to look at the other man, a small smile curling his fuchsia-painted lips. "No, I'm past being tired. I've got my second wind, and now I'm horny," he drops his voice to husky, provocative timber. He draws close to Brian and drapes his arms about his mate's neck and begs, "Brian, please, you've got to take me just like this."

Brian looks his lover up and down, strangely hesitant, his hands stalling on the younger man's hips. "What, I can't strip you naked?" He says in a low, seductive voice he injects with a note of amusement.

Stewie shakes his head, a few of the caramel-colored tendrils of the wig getting tossed about with the movement. "I'm not wearing any underwear, so all I have to do is hike up my chemise. Easy access."

"And, and the wig- the wig stays on?"

Brian isn't certain what's throwing him; Stewie does look dead sexy in his lingerie drag. The former dog takes a moment to quickly probe his subconscious. What is he afraid of? That if he enjoys it too much, Stewie will think that he'd rather be with a woman and be hurt and angry? Well, Brian's well acquainted with the body underneath that chemise; there isn't an inch of it that hasn't been explored by his hands and mouth on some occasion. And there isn't anything feminine about it- the equipment, of course, is a man's, the same as what Brian himself has, but beyond that there is not a womanly curve about it: Stewie is all angles, straight up and down, lean. So to what extent would he even be able to fantasize that he was with a woman? Also, Stewie _knows _that Brian would _much_ rather make love with _him_, the ex-dog's soul mate, and immerse himself in the euphoric energy that passes between them when they are together that way, than with any woman who could be in existence. And this is Stewie before him, whatever he is or isn't wearing.

It is with these reflections on how unconditionally he loves his mate that makes Brian abandon his reservations and growl into Stewie's ear, "Well, whatever your kink is."

"Really? Well in _that _case-"

"Within reason." They kiss passionately and move to the bed.

**BREAK!**

"What are we doing out here; it's so gray and dismal and fucking _freezing_! " Stewie whines, rubbing his gloved hands together before shoving them in the pockets of his custom-tailored mohair walking coat. Cold sleet has begun to fall, and the air is nippy as they practically speed-walk through Trafalgar Square, too cold to stop and linger at any of the famous statues or Nelson's Column.

"The National Gallery was amazing," Brian comments, wanting to say something positive to keep their spirits up. They'd left on their trip only a couple weeks after having had the idea for it, just long enough to find an acceptable candidate to stay in the apartment and pay rent while they were gone. Meaning that they were here in London in early February, and had known full-well what the weather would be like.

They've also seen The British Library today, happily spending hours scoping out the displays of the many original musical scores by composing greats such as Sullivan, Handel, and Beethoven and manuscripts of world-renowned books that the place boasts. The latter had inspired them to visit a bookstore where Brian had picked up copies of works by Oscar Wilde and Charles Dickens, while, oblivious to Brian's deriding all self-help books as crackpottery, Stewie had picked up a career guidance book.

"What we need to do is find a place to sit down and have a cup of coffee to warm us up. Preferably someplace family-run, with a quaint and cozy character, a real….Hey, a Starbucks!" Stewie abruptly exclaims, visibly cheered upon catching sight of the location of one of the mega-chain of coffee shops right ahead of them.

"Huh. Can't get much quainter than that," Brian quips sarcastically, but follows his mate inside.

Installed at a table with their java, Stewie unfurls a map of the city and begins talking to Brian of all the tourist destinations they should hit tomorrow.

An elderly gentlemen with matted grey hair and dressed in an appallingly ugly argyle sweater vest and crumpled khakis is going by their table and, overhearing their conversation, pauses. "Ah, showing your American friend around our fair nation's capital, eh?" He says in a friendly way, in the native accent. The same accent as Stewie's.

"Actually," Stewie informs him. "We're both American."

At first upon hearing this, the gentleman looks surprised. Then it seems to hit him, he has come to what can be the only rational conclusion. "But you, originally, _must_ be from Great Britain, surely?"

"Nope," Stewie says, shaking his head in the negative. "American born and bred there in full."

The man screws up his brow. "And you picked up our accent so quickly? What is this, some kind of Madonna thing?"

"No, no," Stewie says, laughing lightly. "I've honestly spoken like this all my life."

"It's true," Brian seconds.

It is plain from his dubious expression that the man does not believe them.

Stewie sighs in exasperation. "You want proof that I don't have any direct English ethnicity?" He exclaims. "Do my teeth look like piano keys smashed with a sledgehammer?" Opening his mouth wide and awaiting the man's scrutiny.

He bends down, raising the glasses he wears on a cord around his neck to his eyes and inspects Stewie's choppers at close range, practically sticking his whole head in there. Then he retreats, satisfied, bowing his head in apology, murmuring, "My mistake." He walks off.

"Stupid British prick."

**BREAK!**

The next day, Brian and Stewie are on the upper level of a double-decker bus that is chartering them around to some of London's most famous and notable landmarks. A "hop-on, hop-off" bus, it's called. Stewie is very excited to see Buckingham Palace and when the first glimpse of the royal residence comes into sight, is standing up out of his seat on the moving, open-top bus, making his boyfriend nervous.

"Do you know I've never seen a palace before, Brian? Oh, it's almost too much, I'm all aflutter! After having grown up on Cinderella and Snow White- Oh, if only it was the summer, we'd get to see inside! Can't you just imagine _us_ living in a palace, Brian, experiencing our own personal fairytale?"

"Princess, will you please sit down?" Brian takes a swat at the younger man's rear end with a newspaper he'd found discarded on his seat when they'd climbed aboard.

"Ooh, yes, smack my fanny again!" Stewie squeals, leering at Brian as he finally plunks himself down. From somewhere off to the side, there is a tiny gasp of might be offense, which they both discount.

"Stop it; you're nothing but a sex fiend sometimes," Brian mutters, his boyfriend's juvenile behavior starting to grate. "And it wasn't a smack; more like a tap."

Stewie's head whips around to look at him, and he waggles his eyebrows madly. "Ooh, well, even better! You naughty boy! Yes, you love to tap that, don't you, and I love to have you do it! Doesn't get any better than fanny tapping!"

A throat is cleared loudly, and a woman with her hair pulled back in a bun so severe and tight that her scalp has got to be in significant pain leans across toward them.

"Excuse me," she begins in a snippy whisper, wearing a vastly censorious frown, "but besides not making any sense, your talk is highly inappropriate; there are children present." She gestures to the two young kids, a boy and a girl, aged around five and three, that are accompanying her.

Stewie sends her a disbelieving look. "Would you rather I said 'ass'?" he offers blithely, his voice going louder on the last word, stressing it.

The bus comes to a stop outside the gates of Buckingham Palace, and as the tour guide gives a speech about the illustrious history of the place and the royal family, Stewie is immediately out of his seat again, hanging over the edge. He's got more of his body outside the bus than in it, unable to resist the magnetic pull the castle apparently has on him, a rapturous gleam in his eyes, a broad grin on his face, snapping picture after picture.

"Stewie, get back in the bus," says Brian irritably, tugging on the back of the younger man's coat, attempting to pull him back down into his seat.

Stewie has, no surprise, scandalized the uptight British woman even further by saying 'ass', and she, too, grabs onto the fabric of his coat.

"Young man! Young man! I demand an apology for your crudity! Young man!"

Stewie sneers at her over his shoulder. "Would you mind very much letting me go, you interfering cow, I-"

It happens so quickly: somehow, with the woman yanking on his coat, and he trying to dislodge it from her grasp, still leaning halfway out the bus and with only one hand left on the ledge to brace himself, he loses his balance, and in a flash he's gone, having fallen off the upper deck of the tour bus with a startled cry. Brian jumps to his feet and leans over the side, calling down worriedly to his mate.

Stewie groans from the ground, "I'm okay!"

**BREAK!**

"Good morning, my darling."

Brian's not certain when this happened, but lately Stewie's taken to- in private- addressing him by various affectionate monikers. 'Darling' seeming to be his favorite. They're not a couple with a penchant for petnames (unless you count Stewie's calling Brian 'Dog' or 'Mutt', or a range of similar variations relating to canines), but every so often now, they'll creep in, these perfectly sincere terms of endearment, coming from Stewie's mouth.

"'Morning," Brian responds, rubbing his eyes and stretching himself. "Whatcha doin' over there?"

"Checking my email. I haven't since we arrived, you know."

"How's your back from yesterday?"

"Still a tad sore."

"Is it?" asks Brian caringly.

"Mm," Stewie murmurs in the affirmative. Brian sees him click on another email and quickly skim through its contents. "Mother sent me a message, asked if we got to London safely, wanting to know how we're enjoying ourselves so far."

"Come here," says Brian, and Stewie climbs onto the bed, walking across it on his knees over to Brian. As soon as he is up close, Brian shifts himself to a kneeling position, too, reaches out, and coaxes Stewie to lift his arms up. The younger man does, and in one fluid motion, Brian pulls Stewie's shirt off.

Stewie lets out a surprised little laugh and gives Brian a bemused look. "O-oh, okay, real sensitive, Dog. I complain to you of a backache and you decide that right now you wanna have sex. But I guess I'll go along with you on this one."

Brian just grabs Stewie, spins him around, and pushes gently on his back to encourage him to lie down on his stomach. He positions himself so that he kneels hovering over Stewie, one knee outside either of Stewie's legs, leans forward, and begins to kneed his palms into Stewie's bare back.

Stewie emits a low groan of approval almost instantaneously. "I say, that's _nice. _You really know what you're doing, Brian. _Oh,_ yes, right there…"

Brian can't help but smile in a self-satisfied way as he carries on massaging his mate's bothersome back. "Yes, some would say I have a certain expertise."

"And why haven't you treated me to your 'expertise' before now?" Stewie demands, a layer of annoyance present under a voice that's mainly quite relaxed-sounding by this juncture.

"Uh, well," begins Brian, considering this, "I suppose because before I'd use my expertise on the women I'd date to try and get them into bed. I never had to do that with you."

Stewie gasps indignantly. "Are you implying that I was easy?"

Brian can't contain his snort of laughter. "Are you denying it?"

"Now see here-!" the auburn-haired man makes a start to go off on him, but Brian, chuckling, interrupts.

"Stewie, who are you trying to kid? I could have had you at any point during the last twenty-one years!" Then his voice becomes suddenly reflective and warmly doting.

"I wish I'd realized before ten months ago how lucky that made me." He leans down and plants a gentle kiss on Stewie's shoulder blade. "Doesn't it count for anything that this is the first time I've given somebody a massage without seeking sexual payout? I'm doing this just to make you feel good."

Stewie's muscles beneath Brian's hands loosen more and his form slackens further upon the mattress, melting as Brian knows the younger man himself has melted at his words. Brian can hear the pleased emotion underlying his lover's tone even as Stewie tries for aloofness:

"I suppose it might count for a _very _little."

Brian smiles.

For approximately the next fifteen minutes, he keeps on massaging Stewie, and a point arrives when younger man is starting to emit the most enticing little noises, that would suggest that the ministrations have ceased having a soothing effect and are beginning to have more of a stimulating one. Brian, for his part, anyway, listening to these noises, is increasingly hoping for a happy ending.

"You know, even though you weren't seeking it, maybe you'll get the sexual payout regardless…"

Upon hearing this, Brian smirks wickedly and pulls the sheet that doesn't have any elastic from the bed right out from under Stewie, like that old magician's trick of pulling a table cloth out from beneath the plates and flatware. Brian holds the sheet tautly out in front of him between his two fists.

"Just what I was hoping to hear."

Then lunges for Stewie.

**BREAK!**

Brian kisses the insides of Stewie's wrists as he undoes the bindings tying them together. "Well, that was fun." They both sit back and pull on their underwear.

"Mm, bangers for breakfast?" Stewie smirks and Brian grins back.

"Careful, Stewie, using British words with double meanings did you no favors yesterday."

Stewie rolls his eyes, rising from their big bed. He goes back to the computer, sitting himself lightly at the desk. "Bondage usually _does _make for a good time. But it's beneficial to know that should we ever get bored with the basic sex play and kinks, howsoever tried and true they may be, we can always refer to that book, _The Gay Kama Sutra_ that Peter was so good as to send us."

Brian shudders on his way over to the kitchenette. That book _had _had some intriguing ideas in it that he wouldn't object in the least to trying out but for the fact that it was _Peter_ who sent it to him, so that he could better pleasure his old friend's son. That was just a little more than off-putting. "You know, he really is _too _supportive of our relationship." He uses the tea and coffee maker to brew them each a cup of Earl Grey.

"This one's from Chris," Stewie remarks, clicking on an email as Brian brings the tea into him. The auburn-haired young man reads through the message quickly, then promptly groans.

"What is it?" Brian questions, setting both cups down on the desk and placing his hands on Stewie's shoulders.

"Apparently Lois told him that Paris is on our itinerary and he and Camille are going to be in The City of Light precisely the same week that we are, the week of Valentine's Day. He wants us to meet up and do a little sightseeing, grab some dinner with them." Stewie looks up at his love with a disgruntled expression.

"Well, you know, that might be…fun." Brian isn't sure which one of them he's trying to persuade. He jostles Stewie playfully with his elbow, grinning encouragingly. "_Viva le France_!"

Stewie gazes skeptically back at him, then clicks on 'reply' and begins composing his message with a resigned sigh. "And _viva obligations familiales!"_

_To be continued…_

**Just so you know, I have never been to the UK, or indeed to any of the destinations that Brian and Stewie will be traveling to in this fic. I've done what is hopefully a sufficient amount of research to put in details about each country's landmarks, environment, culture, etc. Please tell me if you know for a fact that I've presented any inaccuracies.**

**Oh, and I don't know if I need to say 'sorry' about the bad teeth joke. It's been done so many times [and yes, I'm well-aware that my version wasn't particularly funny: comedy isn't my strong suit :( ] that any Brits reading this have got to be used to it, but I figured I'd covered all my bases and offer the apology preemptively. So, here it goes: I'm sorry, Brits. I truly do love you!**

**For those of you who don't know, in the United Kingdom, "fanny" is slang for the female genitals. **

**Anyway, thanks for reading, everyone, and please remember to review!**


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